


Counting

by Ceminar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dissociation, Forced Captivity, Inflation, M/M, Nosebleed, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5046556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceminar/pseuds/Ceminar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Held captive for sweeps, Kankri Vantas copes with his torturous existence the only way he can. Counting what he can until his Keeper decided to call on him once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting

**Author's Note:**

> Just an FYI, the Summary is possibly gonna change sometime in the future. Also, the tags list will probably be updated because I still suck at them. Any questions, comments, or tag suggestions, please feel free to drop them below. Thank you, and enjoy~
> 
> (P.S. BrokeKri is Best Kri.)

"6,987.... 6,988... 6,989..."

Kankri counts under his breath, each number representing a corner of a tile the covers the ceiling of his chamber. It had been so long since he had come to begrudgingly accept this dungeon as his home, that he had long since moved past counting each individual triangle, and their sides. To be honest, he had counted the corners before as well, but after sweeps of staring at the only consistent, only normal thing in this room, a refresher was always welcome to keep him sane.

"6,990."

He stopped there for now, the rumble of his stomach reminding him that not only was he still very much alive, but that he was also very hungry. His keeper had skipped his last few meals this time around, just to make sure Kankri was clean for his next use. The thought no longer sent a shudder of fear through his body as it had when he was first 'obtained'. On the contrary, he was used to it, because to say that the only consistent thing about his life now was the tiled ceiling would be false. No, there was plenty that happened to never change. 

There was the drain in the far corner of the room with only a small wall to separate it from the rest that served as both shower and loadgaper, the grate easily removable for... reasons... but not big enough for escape or serious harm. Against one wall was what he has heard be referred to as 'a beanbag'. Something of hide and a soft, squishy filling that was nearly three times his size and swallowed him every time he lay on it. That served as the recupacoon. The only other object, aside from the hexagonal chandelier that cast light around him and was too high to reach should he consider hanging himself, was the often used copulation platform.

That platform was honestly the only thing kept in decent condition. It was replaced regularly by faceless trolls whenever the cover got too worn and no longer repelled fluids as it should, or if the legs broke. If he was capable of it anymore, Kankri might have been jealous of it.

"Four nights, 20 hours, 39 minutes since the last feeding..."

With a groan, the red blood paced. Night 5. Night 5 would come and he would be too weak to do anything, though he wasn't exactly strong enough to do anything now. Reluctantly, he fell into the beanbag, curling up in an effort to preserve his strength. 

He was coming soon. Kankri knew it. In the several sweeps past, he knew this tactic well. He would be starved to ensure optimal space for his keeper, to ensure that if he had thought about fighting back, he wouldn't. Five nights, then the terror will begin. The stains around his mouth felt as they had the first time he had tried to scrub them away with no avail. His nook and chute ached already as he counted the beads on his only personal effect, a string of pearls that were once white as the shell of his lusus. Now, like his face, they were stained with red and... his color.

Four nights, 20 hours, and 43 minutes....

"Six... seven... eight..."

Soon, night 5 arrived. And with it, came his Keeper. The sounds of his foot falls had Kankri moving to the platform, kneeling in front of it with his eyes downcast. When the door opened, his view was filled by massive, bare feet with nails long and sharp enough to take down a small animal with a single kick. Not to say they didn't match his frame. This troll was huge. He stood well over 7 feet tall, his horns going even higher, nearly catching the chandelier when he moved closer. Pure muscle, with shoulders that were about as wide as three Kankris standing side by side. With one huge, clawed hand, he could crush a skull with ease, and Kankri had seen it. The faded blood splatter beside the door served as a reminder.

Oh. Another constancy, but one he tried so very hard to forget.

Kankri kept silent, his eyes downcast as the feet moved closer to him, counting each step after the door had closed once more. 8 steps, and he was in front of the mutant troll, 8 steps that would have taken 24 of his own, and his face was turned up by those sharp nails he watched move closer to him, eyes falling on the disgustingly familiar mane of untamed hair and painted face of the troll had claimed him from this young cerulean blood who tried to strike a deal with him.

Her luck ran out that night, and she learned why they call him The Grand Highblood. Mind games just don't work on him. Now her blood is added to the mural in his throne room and Kankri is even less than a pet. For all intent and purposes, this situation is 800% her fault.

He was looking over Kankri still, as the smaller of the two thought about how many strands of hair must make up that mane in an effort to prepare for what was to come. But the grin that passed the Highbloods' face alerted him moments too late to the pain he would be in as the floor suddenly came rushing to meet his face with a crunch.

One. Two. Threefourfive- oh shit.

There was a delayed yelp of pain as the broken nose finally clicked, bright red blood falling from it first in droplets, then a steady trickle as tears welled in his eyes.

"Thought that would be gettin' a motherfuckers attention all up in the right place."

Kankri whined, foot grinding his face into the rough material of the ground. He knew better than to try and push him away, instead keeping his palms flat on the floor in hopes he would be released soon. He needed something to count. Something to take him to his Safe Place, away from here. Away from what happens next. He would have started with the lines on the heavy wooden door, but to be fair, The Grand Highblood had come a little earlier than expected. Too soon for him to fully disassociate. 

"You still with this most Grand of motherfuckers, ain't ya, my filthy lil bulgesleeve?"

His voice seemed so much worse now. Deep... husky... in any other setting, it would be considered attractive. But as the pressure on his skull increased, Kankri could only squeak out a 'Yes!', trying to imagine a life where that consideration would have never crossed his mind in an attempt to try and make this horrible thing better. Unfortunately, he was guilty of trying to find ways to do just that, to not feel as bad for it happening. 

They didn't work.

But the answer had. The purpleblood moved then, taking a seat on the damned platform and finally allowing Kankri to lift his head, to take a proper breath as his nose continued to drip. He stretched out on it, legs dangling clear off one side as he snapped his fingers.

"Come on over here. Get a brother all motherfuckin' comfortable like you supposed to."

Kankri shudders then, crawling to him after wiping his nose on his bare arm. He remembered this. Before, when he talked back, argued with him. Situated between thighs that could crush his small frame with ease, he started with the drawstring, slowly tugging the baggy material down as if he would be ordered to stop any moment. How he wished he had been told to stop.

"Hurry it up, runt. Don't be keeping me waiting."

His hand almost saps the warmth from Kankri as it rests on his head, but the threat is clear. Quickly, the fabric is removed and the all too familiar view of darkened skin and scars and deep purple bulge too big to be fully sheathed greets his eyes and no longer turns his stomach. With practiced obedience, his lips parted, taking in the slowly wriggling appendage. Using the skills he never would have acquired if he had gotten to live as he hoped, he worked the bulge as inch after slimy inch slid out if the sheath and into his mouth, down his throat. Even after all this time, he couldn't stop. How his throat clenched, how he gagged as spit tinged purple with prematerial dripped from the corners of his mouth and onto the lap before him, mingling with the blood from his still bleeding nose. Before, he would have worried the mess would get him punished, but he knows now that in the eyes of the most powerful land troll, the messier, the better.

"That's real fuckin' nice there..." Highblood pushed down on Kankris' head, keeping him in place for the span of several (lacking) breaths before pulling him back by a fistfuls of matted black hair. This time, at least, he wasn't suffocated, which was a small mercy, but the grin that preceded his next words were proof that it was indeed, a small one. "Now why not let the motherfuckin' festivities be gettin' they start on?"

It wasn't a question. By that same fistful of hair, Kankri was lifted, dropped on his lap like a small doll, barely reaching his chin from the new position. The massive bulge that had so recently been trying to worm it's way down his windpipe was currently adding to the growing stains that covered his inner thighs. It didn't matter much if his blood pusher was in the act or not, and by everything that still made up the being that was Kankri Vantas, his blood pusher was not into it. But his body was conditioned. His nook ached as he ground back against him, helped the tip find his entrance and whimpered as it surged into him.

"That's what a brother talkin' 'bout!" There was a bellow of laughter then, hands moving to their favorite hold, finding the bruises left behind, that would always remain. They squeezed, lifted what ass he had before thrusting into him. Kankri cried out as he stretched to accommodate him, but there was still more left. But the purpleblood would not be daunted by such things. No, he moved those hips down until the cry died back down to the whimpers.

"You likin' them pearls still, huh?"

Why was he asking things? Kankri bit his lip, nodding as he fought to keep his tears from falling. As he did, he felt the clasp come undone and the smooth beads slip from their place and-

No! No, not again! Even as he thought that, his body leaned forward, felt fingers spread him open before the first pearl was pushed inside him. Then the next. One after another until his chute was filled with them. It was a feeling he could never get used to, they way they shifted in such an unpredictable manner with each movement. Kankri could learn the Highblood, could eventually even tune out some of the abuse (with some preparation). But not with these. They seemed to amplify every motion times over. 

"Yeah, motherfucker, you do be lovin' them wicked shits. Only took that ass a few tries to get used to it."

Find something. Anything. Quickly. His eyes darted around. The door was out of his line of sight, unable to be seen without turning his head and that was an unsafe move. Pusher beats? Too personal. Too real. Too here, where he didn't want to be.

The hair, then. The stray ones. The flyaways. One. Two. Three. Four. Five-

"Ally-oop!" With a chuckle, the position was changed. Kankri was empty for just a moment, one blissful moment before his face was pressed into the fluid resistant cover, massive hand finding his hair again to push it further and ensure the only movement was what the giant wanted. And he wanted to toy with the string, twisting them and pulling on them and making Kankri squirm as much as he could before entering him again. And this time, the position didn't stop him. Soon, his entire bulge was inside him, the bump visible against the mutants' stomach, so pronounced against the tiny frame that every motion of it was visible.

This was where the nightmare truly began. Hunched over the tiny mass of flesh, the massive troll fucked him, put all his force behind each thrust, the slap of skin on skin bouncing odd the bare walls as his victim tried so hard to keep silent to no avail. Sharp teeth bit into his shoulder, nails dug into his sides and his hair was constantly yanked and he hoped that once day his neck would snap from the force. Instead, the oozing purple bulge began to swell, signaling an abrupt climax that coated his insides in cool, sticky mess. The sheer amount of fluid that seeped into his genebladder was enough to cause a swell in his abdomen, a back splash down his thighs that slid off the platform with ease. But still the relentless attack on his nook continued. That was just the first of many.

The entire night, this went on. The Grand Highblood, pounding Kankris' abused nook, filling it like a pail until his stomach was more swollen than a pouncebeast after a good hunt. He even made a game of it, moving away from the platform and his toy, ordering his to prop himself up and spread his gaping hole wide so he could shoot his load from a far. Sometimes he made his mark. When he missed, it was inconsequential. Kankri was ruined goods anyway by this point. When he was bored with his nook, his bulge would slide in along side the beads in the redbloods' chute, causing his cries to ring out as he left no orifice unfilled.

Night had gone and come again before the Highblood left the chamber stinking of sex and blood. Kankri lay prone, thankfully face up on the platform as pants were found and slung over broad shoulders. 

"Hope a motherfucker done enjoyed this lil' miracle I done blessed you with, you most undeserving of heathens. Don't worry none. Your favorite brother gone be back real soon."

Another laugh, answered only by a loud belch from material guzzled, and Kankri was alone again, already counting tiles.

He'd barely reached 60 before exhaustion overcame him, slurry continuing to leak from him like a faucet. By the time he woke again, his stomach was almost halfway back to its normal size. His nose, though crooked, was flaked with dried blood, signaling the bleeding finally stopped. And for the first time in days, there was a tray of food waiting by the door. But eating could come later. With what strength he had left, Kankri hobbled to the corner squat over the drain, slowly, carefully pulling the string of pearls from his chute, now more stained than ever, and set them aside.

He had to begin the cleaning process. Finding the button to start the shower was easy enough. As the cold water crashed over his body, he attempted to remove the worst of the mess inside him, scooping his nook and chute with his fingers, forcing himself to vomit, watching it all go down the drain. When he could no longer do that, he set about washing himself, voice thin, strained as he counted each scrub.

"One... two... three..."

**Author's Note:**

> Before I forget... This is my 30th Homestuck fic! Whoooo!!!! *pats self on back* I just wanna thank everyone for enjoying (and encouraging this filth) my drabbles and, kinda honestly, horrible writings. It means a lot to me. So here's to more in the future! Cheers!


End file.
